


Fraternity

by LydianNode



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Brooding, Drinking, Gen, Hot Space Era, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 00:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17929301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydianNode/pseuds/LydianNode
Summary: After a tough day watching the others record "Back Chat," Brian goes to a bar and nurses a beer or six.Having a normal job might not be so terrible, Brian thought as he signaled for the waiter to bring him another beer. People in normal jobs led safe, ordinary lives. They didn't get close enough to their co-workers to consider them brothers, didn't long for their approval, weren't willing to fight and die for them.People in normal jobs didn't get stabbed in the back by harsh words gleefully sung to a catchy disco tune.





	Fraternity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [royaltyisshe64](https://archiveofourown.org/users/royaltyisshe64/gifts).



1981, Munich

Most people would struggle to nurse a grievance, a bruised ego, and a beer at the same time, but Brian May excelled at multitasking. He hunched over the table, making himself as small as possible in hopes of going unnoticed. Even here in Munich, people tended to recognise him. Ordinarily that was a mere inconvenience but today Brian simply could not endure the thought of interacting with another living soul.

This wasn't a bar that Queen frequented. It was too far from the studio and the atmosphere was too pedestrian and plain for Freddie. Mostly, it was too populated by dull, middle-aged people who probably held some normal job.

Having a normal job might not be so terrible, Brian thought as he signaled for the waiter to bring him another beer. People in normal jobs led safe, ordinary lives. They didn't get close enough to their co-workers to consider them brothers, didn't long for their approval, weren't willing to fight and die for them.

People in normal jobs didn't get stabbed in the back by harsh words gleefully sung to a catchy disco tune.

Brian took a long pull of eisbock and let the malty sweetness travel slowly down his throat. It wasn't nearly enough to mask the bitterness in his heart, but at least the alcohol might mute some of his discomfort. Every joint in his body felt stiff, every muscle aching. And no wonder, given how long he'd stood in the control room, being forced to listen to Freddie taunting him through John's song.

_Back Fucking Chat._

There wasn't enough beer in all of Germany to relieve that pain.

Grimacing, Brian guzzled half the glass in a matter of seconds. He wasn't even sure what hurt the worst: John writing the song or Freddie doing such a good job of singing it. Or perhaps it was the glee John took in telling Brian to "sit this one out since I don't need guitars."

So Brian had stood around, witnessing the birth of the track whose sole purpose was to wound him. He listened to John play synth and layer it with - oh, look, it WAS a guitar after all, but John did it himself.

The better part of Brian took a moment to admit that John was a better guitarist than Brian was a bassist. But only a moment.

Then Roger had gone in to add electronic drum tracks, shrugging at Brian and pretending that he didn't have a clue what the song was about. He hadn't been able to keep up the pretence once Freddie started singing the lead vocal. "You stand so tall, you don't frighten me at all" was so obvious that Roger had shot a nervous glance at Brian, almost missing a beat.

Freddie didn't come close to missing anything. He never did. But did he really need to be having such a good time, using his most sultry, come-hither vocals on words that were meant to cut Brian to the very core?

Fuck Back Chat, fuck John Deacon, and fuck Freddie Mercury. Only partially fuck Roger Taylor. Brian had a brief fantasy of Roger standing up and walking out of the session, declaiming something along the lines of "I won't let you two do this to him." But that hadn't happened. Roger was a professional, after all, and he wouldn't let something as minor as a long, loving friendship get in the way of laying down a cool rhythm track.

_Not that I'm bitter._

He needed another beer, so he ordered one. So simple.

He needed another life, but that wouldn't be quite so simple.

After the new beer arrived Brian drank most of it and then rested his elbows on the table, re-living his mother's admonition about "table manners, Brian, if you please" as if played back on an old turntable. Suddenly weary, he let his forehead drop to his clasped hands and stared blearily at the tabletop, at the whorls of the wood grain and yellowing marks where countless drinks had been set over the years. Some crappy techno music was blaring through the speakers. Brian put his hands over his ears as if that would actually help, but all it did was muffle the words some bloke was speaking nearby.

"Excuse me - are you Brian May? From Queen?" If Brian had been sober, he would have noticed that the German-accented English was a little off. Instead, he sighed and reached for the pen he always carried in his shirt pocket as he prepared to sign an autograph. Pasting on a smile he hoped wasn't too shark-like, he lifted his head.

Roger was standing next to his table. His hands were in his pockets, shades perching rakishly on top of his messy hair. There was something a little sheepish in his eyes as he gave Brian a tight smile. "Hey."

Brian blinked a few times. "How'd you find me?" he asked. His tongue felt thicker than normal.

"Tried the usual places. Then I tried some unusual ones." He looked at his watch. "Took two hours and a bit, but here you are. Can I sit down?"

"I won't stop you." That sounded bitchy, so Brian tried to soften the words with a self-deprecating grin. "Can't imagine why you'd want to, actually."

"Shocking, yeah." Roger lit a cigarette and carefully directed the smoke away from Brian. "If it were up to me, mate, I'd have let you put on a good sulk all by yourself. But, as it happens, I'm on orders."

Brian sighed, ruffling the hair at his nape. "I'm really not in the mood, Rog, If Deacy's pissed off because I left early--"

"Nope. Not Deacy. Freddie." Roger picked up Brian's beer mug and cocked an eyebrow at him. Brian rolled his eyes as Roger drank the remainder of the beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Good stuff," he said admiringly.

"Roger..."

"He wants you back at the studio."

It took a moment to process the words. Did they think he had actually quit the band? "I'll be back tomorrow, I just didn't have anything to do on that track so I split."

A fleeting look of relief crossed Roger's face. "That's good," he said quickly, as if he'd been afraid of a different reply. "I mean, Freddie wants you back in the studio today. Now-ish, actually." He looked to the side for a moment, then met Brian's eyes, widening his own meaningfully. "Deacy went back to the hotel and Mack's gone home. It's just Freddie."

"Ah." Brian reminded himself that Roger was only the messenger. "Do I have time for another beer?"

"Not right now. But when you get back, if you want..." Roger trailed off and bit his lip. For such an argumentative bastard, he hated it when the people around him got into a fight. "I'll be up late."

_That took Roger off the "fuck you" list._

Roger was a good friend stuck in a shitty position. Brian smiled at him, no trace of shark to be found this time, and patted his arm. "If I need medical attention, I'll know where to find you."

When Brian stood up he could see the tired circles under Roger's eyes. This day hadn't been much better for him. "I'll have some long-legged blonde nurses on standby. See ya."

Brian pulled out his wallet and left a pile of notes on the table, enough to cover his tab and for Roger to have a proper drink of his own, then headed outside. Dusk was falling, a little mist forming on the windshields of the cars that drove past. Brian hailed a cab and gave the address for the Musicland studio.

He sank into the back seat and tried not to think about what might happen next. Probably not being fired from the band outright - Roger would've told him had that been the case. Getting the rock equivalent of a yellow card was a distinct possibility, whatever that might be, but then John would have hung around the studio to watch and gloat. Perhaps Freddie just wanted to have a shout, which wouldn't be too terrible except that Brian was rather well-oiled and might not be able to defend himself.

There wasn't much time to prepare for whatever lay ahead. The cab pulled up to the building and Brian got out, quickly paying the driver and striding in the front door before he had time to lose his nerve. For an instant he paused with his hand on the studio door, hesitant to take the next step.

_Grow a fucking pair.  
_

Straightening his spine and forcing his hand to stay steady, Brian opened the door. Almost instantly his lungs began protesting against the strong haze of cigarette smoke still in the air. He fully expected to find Freddie pacing the room, hands balled into tight fists, but there was no sign of him in the control room. His pulse pounded as he looked around. Had Freddie given up and left? Had he left a note, telling Brian to fuck off, to go home to England, to find a band that might, just might, be willing to take him on even though he was such an arsehole?

Then he heard music.

Freddie was seated behind the grand piano in one corner of the studio, softly playing something Brian didn't recognize. It was in a major key, finally, after listening all day to John's wrathful minor drones. Brian cleared his throat to get Freddie's attention.

"Ah, he found you. Well done, Roger," Freddie said. He plucked a bottle of Stolichnaya from an ice bucket beside the piano, poured himself a glass, then held up a second glass. "Join me?"

Brian debated whether turning Freddie down might be a worse idea than alcohol poisoning. _Oh, what the hell._ "Sure." He stepped closer and accepted the glass from Freddie, who finally offered him a smile.

"Cheers, Bri." Freddie knocked back his drink and set the glass on top of the piano.

"Cheers. Is that new?" Taking a cautious sip, mindful of how much he'd already had to drink, Brian started to walk behind the piano to read over Freddie's shoulder.

"No, no, back over there," Freddie pronounced, pointing to where Brian had been standing. "Stand there and listen. I was thinking, earlier, about the session today with John."

 _Here it comes._ "Me, too," Brian said softly, hoping he didn't sound defensive, but there was an edge to his voice that couldn't entirely be accounted for by half a dozen beers.

Freddie didn't seem to notice, breezily saying, "I needed you back here because I've written this song about you, but it needs your touch on it."

_You've got to be fucking kidding me._

The booze flowing through Brian's bloodstream began moving fast enough to float his resentfulness to the surface. "Fred, if you want to follow up on Deacy's little character assassination song and make me participate in it, could it wait 'til morning? I don't have the patience for this right now."

Freddie's face betrayed no emotion after Brian's outburst, but there was a little tremor in his voice when he spoke. "Don't be so quick to hang out the black crepe, darling. Now, please shut the fuck up and listen."

Brian knew all too well the hurtful power of Freddie's words when he was In A Mood, so he decided to finish the vodka quickly in hopes of dulling the upcoming pain. He listened to the bluesy chords Freddie drew from the keyboard with his skillful fingers, and against his will his own hands began tracing a guitar part in the air.

Freddie began singing in his most heartfelt gospel voice:

"God bless my soul, here he comes now,  
The man with the most - how does he do it?  
Sure, he's got style, he's so heavy."

 _Wait, THIS is about me?_  
  
"He's a trip, can do anything,  
Anything, anything.  
He's my soul brother."

"Freddie, I'm sor--"

Freddie shook his head. "Seriously, do cork it, dear." After vamping for a few seconds to get back to the right chords for the remainder of the verse, he continued, gazing meaningfully at Brian.

"He's my best friend,"

_Oh, God._

"He's my champion.  
And he will rock you, rock you, rock you,  
'Cause he's the saviour of the universe.  
Make yourself alive,  
Ooh brother, he can make you keep yourself alive,  
'Cause he's somebody, somebody  
You can love.  
He's my soul brother."

Each time Freddie looked up from the piano and raised his eyebrows at Brian as he referenced a Queen song, Brian thought his heart was going to explode. He pressed his glass against his flushed cheek and tried to remember how to breathe.

"There's going to be a bit here about 'Under Pressure' but I haven't made it that far yet," Freddie said as he continued to play the song's chord progression with his right hand. With his left, he patted the piano bench. "Come here and sit down before you fall down."

Brian stumbled a bit as he took his spot on the bench. Freddie had a warm scent about him, something that reminded Brian of his own children when they were babies, only overlaid with vodka and expensive cologne. Heady.

 _Heady Freddie,_ Brian thought as he suppressed a chuckle. He added low notes to Freddie's harmonies, not as florid as his guitar solos but not as high and assertive as John's basslines.

Freddie smiled, full-on, teeth and all. "There, that's marvelous!" He leaned against Brian's shoulder as he finished his song.

"Soul brother, he can do anything.  
He can do anything,  
'Cause he's my soul brother."

In the stillness that followed, Brian could still hear the song spinning around him. Confused, yet deeply touched, he let himself rest against Freddie. Shoulder-to-shoulder. Comrades in arms.

Freddie turned to him, one hand on Brian's forearm, his expression open and eager. "Well? Aren't you going to say something?"

"I don't...I mean, I..." He looked down for a moment, then back up into Freddie's eyes, so wide and dark and guileless. He took a deep breath and started over. "It's gorgeous, Fred. Really. Thank you."

"I mean every single word of it, darling." He afforded Brian a sardonic grin. "Even though you're a real prat sometimes."

Brian had to laugh at himself, then he turned serious again. "So. Should I say something to Deacy?"

"I wouldn't," Freddie advised. "He's used his funky track to make his point and now he'll go back to his usual silent inscrutability until you piss him off again."

"That might not take too long. Do I really criticise everything he says?" asked Brian as he steepled his fingers together, tapping some forgotten rhythm.

Freddie snickered into his drink. "Have you actually listened to yourself at a session, for fuck's sake? It's not just Deacy. None of us can so much as take a breath in the studio without first running it past you in triplicate. You're such a fucking perfectionist."

"That's rich, coming from you," Brian grumbled, but deep down he knew Freddie had a point. "And since when has this group been in agreement for more than eight bars at a time?" _  
_

"Darling, expecting the four of us to agree on anything is like expecting cats to march in a parade." He played a couple of riffs on the piano, fragments that didn't really go anywhere. When he turned back to Brian, he was wearing a serious but gentle expression. "Deacy's song IS going on the album, you know."

_Another nail in the Hot Space coffin.  
_

"That's what I assumed," Brian said as diplomatically as he could.

Freddie nudged him with his shoulder. "Nice try. My album spots are all filled, so I thought I'd put 'Soul Brother' on the B-side of 'Under Pressure,' if that's okay with you."

It was more than okay. Brian was stunned into silence for several moments as he thought it through.

"I'd like that, Freddie, thank you. Besides, even if there were room on the album for it, your song could be seen as an attempt to dilute John's. It's best to let him take his shot at me and have done with it, don't you think?"

"You're not going to fire back?" Freddie asked, archly. "That's not like you."

"I'm not sure what's 'like me' anymore. I'm not sure of anything." Brian had to look away from Freddie's worried countenance, so he hunched over and closed his eyes. "I expected to come back here and get into a fight with you. I was preparing myself to counter any argument you could bring up: about the type of music we're recording, how we're recording it, even what instruments we're using."

"Or not using," Freddie remarked as he gently placed his hand on Brian's knee.

"That, too. I was pretty sure you were going to sack me, or at least ask me to consider leaving. What I wasn't ready for was...this." He put his hand over Freddie's and forced himself to look at him again. "I wasn't prepared for kindness."

Freddie sat up straight, clearly taken aback. With a little, pained cry he flung his arms around Brian and hugged him tightly. "Oh, Brian. No, I'd never ask you to leave, never."

For the first time since he'd arrived in Munich, Brian was able to relax. He buried his face in Freddie's shoulder and let himself be reassured that he still had a place in their music, a place in Freddie's ample heart. He hadn't even realised how desperately he craved Freddie's approval until he heard the string of praise and endearments murmured next to his ear. "I can't imagine having to do without your songs, darling, and as for singing without your guitar singing back at me - well, that just won't do. No, my love, I couldn't manage it. You're stuck with me for life, I'm afraid."

"Mmm."

_There are worse things in life than being stuck with Freddie Mercury._

Freddie shifted, brushing aside a handful of Brian's curls. "I've got your bloody hair up my nose," he complained, his tone still affectionate. As he pulled away, his manic smile and a certain twinkle in his eyes were forecasting mischief. "Let's do something naughty."

Brian shook his head. "I can't drink anything else, Fred, my head's already--"

"Not THAT. Come with me." Freddie led him to the control room and pointed out the console. "See? There's a track empty."

Following Freddie's train of thought was often difficult even without six beers and a vodka to muddle things up. Brian glanced from the bit of unmarked masking tape to Freddie, then back again. "And?"

"Oh, DO keep up, darling. There's an empty track on 'Back Chat.'"

"And?" reiterated Brian. _  
_

"And your guitar is just over there, so you could..."

They looked at one another, then they dissolved into laughter that rang around the little room like bells. Brian wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "He'll kill us," he warned Freddie, who waved that thought away as if it were inconsequential.

"Yes. And won't it be divine?" Freddie plopped down into Mack's chair and began fiddling with the controls. "Tempus fugit, Brian, dear."

Still laughing, Brian grabbed the Red Special and loped into the studio. He plugged into the amp - the Deacy amp, no less, and how was THAT for irony? - and checked his tuning.

"Do you have any idea what you'll be playing?" Freddie asked over the intercom.

He didn't. "Not a clue. Just hit playback and I'll think of something."

_With Freddie at the helm, everything was possible._

"Okay, we're at the right spot so here we go. And may Deacy have mercy on our souls." Freddie hit playback with a dramatic flourish and immediately Brian understood, instinctively, just what notes to add to the song that was written as a complaint about the notes he added to a song.

His fingers flew along the fretboard. He didn't need to look up to know that Freddie was smiling at him, nodding his encouragement. He could just feel it.

Because, after all, they were brothers.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to royaltyisshe64, who wanted to read it.
> 
> I love "Soul Brother" and it makes me cry.
> 
> ***
> 
> I have a tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lydiannode - come talk to me!


End file.
